


Dreams

by spacesix



Series: Requiem [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: 'happy' being subjective, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assisted Suicide, Codependency, Depression, Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Character Death, kind of?, nothing in this fic is graphic in any way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesix/pseuds/spacesix
Summary: The Vagabond missed what he used to have. He misseswhohe used to have. It's been 15 years since he's had for real what he now only gets to see in his dreams. It's time to get it back.





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this isn't as awful as the tags make it seem. Maybe. It's not required that you read the other two parts in the series before this one but it might make more sense if you do.

“The Vagabond is an old soul,” people would say, “He’s lost his edge. His reign is over.” 

The Vagabond stopped caring about the power that came with his name long ago. For fifteen years he had done nothing but move and change and move again; never settling down, never keeping the same face or name or address for more than a week at a time. He’d seen every city in every state, traveled across Canada and through most of South America, hitchhiked and took trains and planes from Europe across Russia to China to Japan, taking job after job and robbing whatever he found on his way out of town when no one was hiring. 

His life had never been the same since Ga- no, since _the Golden Boy_ had disappeared. There was no solid identity, no drive to do anything but keep himself too busy to think after the first weeks of rage had passed. He was empty again; but it hurt even worse this time now that he had tasted what it was like to feel fulfilled, to have someone there. The only consistent companion he had was the figure in his dreams.

It was May 13th when he started the four day drive from Texas to the one city he vowed he’d never to go back to: Los Santos. 

…

_There was a boy, late teens if Ryan had to guess, standing next to him on the wooden deck overlooking the ocean. He had bleach blonde hair and a nice shirt and skinny jeans that showed off every one of his curves. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the shithole of a bar. They were talking as they watched the moon rise over the water, Ryan smoking another cigarette and the other nursing a beer he was probably far too young to have._

_It was pleasant, if you put aside the room full of criminals and prostitutes and their chatter of jobs they want done. The boy bid him farewell soon enough, and walked away, leaving him with naught but a phone number sharpied on his arm and the promise of a job in his mind._

_Fast forward a week later, and the boy was sitting in Ryan’s lap across his motorcycle, firing twin gold-plated pistols behind them at the biker gang slowly closing in. They both gave a loud cheer as Gavin shot out the lead man’s tire and sent him crashing back into several of the other guy’s, kicking up a huge cloud of desert sand as they tumbled into the dunes. The boy resumed firing with a permanent grin on his face as Ryan swerved them off-road to weave through a cactus patch. All they had to do was cross the border into New Mexico, and the gang that had been tailing them since Oregon would be forced to leave them alone. ___

____

Ryan jerked awake in a seedy motel in Arizona in the middle of the night. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily and looking around the room as he thought about his dream. For years he’d seen the same face over and over and over again, sometimes doing the same things as in other dreams he’d had, sometimes doing something entirely new. He didn’t know why he dreamed so often of the same person, the same criminal he had worked with so long ago, but every time he woke from one of those dreams it was with an aching heart. Ryan dragged himself out of bed and packed his things to leave. There was only one more day of driving left before he arrived. He didn’t want to be late. 

____

Los Santos had changed a lot in the last fifteen years, but he was happy to see The Fake’s logo sprayed around town, and that the Maze Bank was still standing, and that Jack’s favorite airport had gotten some renovations since he’d last been in town. He didn’t bother going to their old base, he knew they wouldn’t be there. Even if Geoff was still being a bastard and refusing to retire, they had a habit of changing locations every few years; always wanting the newest penthouse with the best view and the biggest garage. He used to be one of them. They wouldn’t mind him passing through for a few days. 

____

He got to his destination that evening: just an old, broken down warehouse that used to be part of a farm or something way out in the plains on the edge of town. The thing had caught fire years ago after some ammunition malfunction, but he wasn’t interested in that. He got out of the truck and walked around the back of the building, counting his paces as he went until he reached 127 feet away from the drive, 13 feet left of the rear loading bay, 27 feet away from the wall. He knelt and started digging slowly, methodically; one scoop left, one right, one down, left, right, down over and over again until his nails scratched against something harder than the dirt above it. Ryan brushed aside the loose dust, and breathed a sigh of relief. 

____

It was still here; the piece of concrete Michael had taken from the inside of the warehouse, buried 8 inches below the surface with the inscription “G.5,23,88-17” hastily chalked onto it in Jack’s neat handwriting. He unclasped the chain from around his neck that held his tarnished, old wedding ring, and dropped it into the hole before scraping the misplaced dirt back in and packing it loosely. 

____

Ryan walked back to his car and drove off without a second glance. 

____

__

____

…

____

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____

_They were fighting again. Ryan snuck his way back into his and Gavin’s apartment just as the sun was rising, hoping to get into bed and get some rest before his partner realized he’d left at all. That turned out not to be the case. As soon as he turned away from the door he stopped dead in his tracks to the sight of a very disappointed looking Gavin standing in the middle of the living room, wavering slightly on his feet with an empty beer bottle in his hand and nine more scattered across the couch and coffee table._

____

_“You really should stop drinking so much,” Ryan said gently, reaching out to take the bottle away. “And why aren’t you in bed, you should be resting.” Gavin jerked away before he could grab it and scowled before turning his back on the other man._

____

_“I’ll stop drinking just like how you stopped running off every night. I’ll just do it when I think you’re asleep.”_

____

___“It’s not the same and you know it. It’s part of wha-”_ _ _

____

_Gavin whipped around and flung the bottle at him, the glass shattering against the wall inches away from his head. “I know damn well what we do, Ryan, and sneaking off you get yourself killed isn’t part of it!”_

____

_“Gav, come on, I’m fine…”_

____

_The boy’s anger melted into despair, and he choked on a sob that broke Ryan’s heart. “We had a promise, Ryan.”_

____

_“Gavin…”_

____

_“Just, just stop. Please. Not tonight.” He turned and walked away, not giving the other man a second glance as he shut the bathroom door behind himself and locked it. Ryan unfroze a few second later and knocked softly on the door. Gavin kicked their razors through the gap underneath. Ryan left him alone after that, going to hide them in the kitchen before working on clearing away the bottles and broken glass from the living room. He would probably sleep out here tonight, he decided; he didn’t think he could bear to hear Gavin crying in the bathroom again because of him._

____

_Ryan woke up some hours later with his arms wrapped tight around Gavin’s waist and Gavin’s arms looped around his neck, the two of them tucked close as they could manage. He looked down at the boy, realizing that he must have come out and joined him earlier after he fell asleep; is brow was furrowed and there were dark bags under his eyes from stress and exhaustion, and his face was flushed with the onset of a fever. He hated this. He hated that he had done this. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Gavin’s head and carded his fingers through his hair, ruffled and scraggly from where he must have been pulling on it. This would have to change. It couldn’t happen again._

____

Vagabond woke up with a distinct lack of anyone in his arms and the sun glaring down on his face through the windshield. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he looked around and winched the seat back to its normal spot. He was sitting in the LSPD parking lot, as far as he could tell. He vaguely recalled going to the warehouse last night, and driving off after, but he didn’t remember driving here. Not like it was any skin off his back, anyways; he was going to head here at some point anyways. Maybe it was for the best that it was not instead of later. 

____

He stopped thinking and headed inside. 

____

The lady sitting at the front desk looked up at him when she heard the door chime, and immediately paled. Vagabond didn’t miss her arm moving to hit the panic button under the desk, and she didn’t miss him watching her do it. He didn’t make a move to stop her. “W-what are you doing in here?” 

____

“I’m here-” he cleared his throat, his voice scratchy and quiet from years of disuse, “I’m here to turn myself in.” A man walked out of the room behind the woman. 

____

“Your friends are here too, aren’t they?” he asked. It wasn’t a question. 

____

“I work alone,” Vagabond responded simply. “Even if I didn’t, killing you all would defeat the purpose of me turning myself in, now wouldn’t it?” The man looked to be at a loss for words at his calmness, and Vagabond stared at them flatly. He stared at them for quite a while, actually; neither of them dared utter another noise or move a muscle in front of him.

____

Suddenly, there was a crash as the building’s glass front was broken open, and lot of shouting as heavily armored officers streamed through, and a numb pain as Vagabond was tackled to the floor. He just went limp, and let them do their work. For a split second, he felt something akin to hope. 

____

“You’re gonna be in here for a long, long time, Vagabond,” Said the woman pinning him roughly to the floor as her colleagues cuffed him. “You’re not getting out of this one alive.” They dragged him out of the lobby and shoved him into the maximum security cell in the back of the van they brought, slamming the door on him without another word before rushing to call all the media they knew. The Vagabond was theirs. 

____

It turns out he wouldn’t be there long. He wouldn’t be anywhere long. They took him to court a few days later, and it took more than an hour to read off the list of his crimes. He did not look anywhere but at the judge; did not speak other than to plead guilty on all charges and to answer the questions of a psychologist who deemed him to be perfectly sane, albeit severely disturbed. He did nothing other than stand still in his chains and accept every sentence given to him. He smiled when the judge put him down for the death penalty, and not one of Vagabond’s sinister, deathly white grins; it was Ryan’ smile, genuine and soft, and it made everyone around him take a half step back. 

____

He was escorted back to the prison and into his cell still smiling. 

____

The next day, they told him that he would be allowed to visit one place for a few hours the week before his execution. He knew exactly where he wanted to go and on what day. When he put in his request to the warden, he was given a heavily suspicious look and a warning that if anything weird happened before the trip, it would be called off. Vagabond smiled again and thanked him, and the warden just shook his head and had the guards take him away. He went to sleep that night thinking of how even if he had fifteen uninvited guests, he would get to see him again. 

____

He slept well that night. 

____

_Ryan was undeniably, indisputably, without a doubt head over heels in love with Gavin. He could tell that Gavin was just as undeniably, indisputably, without a doubt head over heels in love with him too. They were both dressed in their best suits: Ryan in a plain dark blue number with a light pinstripe shirt under, and Gavin in a stunning black one with purple floral-print accents and a dark purple shirt. Gavin’s best color always had been purple, Ryan thought to himself. They stood on the end of the Del Perro Pier, the first place they had met up again after the split, with flutes of champagne in one hand and the other wrapped around their partner’s waist. Neither of them drank anymore, but this was a special occasion. They were finally married. The clock struck midnight, and they looked away from each other and up to the top of Mount Chiliad where the rest of the crew were beginning to light off their fireworks for them. Their laughter at the lewd words spelled out in the sky was drowned out by the confused cheers and complaints of the other boardwalk goers._

____

_They went to bed that night in the ritziest hotel Lindsay and her crew could rent out for them, kiss drunk and breathless and grinning from ear to ear. They hadn’t stopped smiling since that morning; not when Geoff delivered their vows and Jack forged the certificate, not when the all of the branches of their crew came together from all over for the ceremony, not when they each pulled out their flares after Michael’s show and it the boardwalk ablaze, not when they christened every piece of furniture in their room twice over, not when they kissed one last time and fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was the happiest the two of them had ever been._

____

__

____

…

____

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____

Trevor came to visit him on the 22nd. Vagabond sat quietly on his side of the Plexiglas and Trevor sat on his, neither of them picking up the phone to talk just yet. Several minutes later, when it was clear that the guard behind Vagabond was getting anxious, Trevor picked up the phone. 

____

“What are you doing here, Ryan?” His voice was flat, detached almost, carrying none of the boundless emotion it used to. Ryan picked up his phone. 

____

“I think you’re mistaken. There’s no ‘Ryan’ here.” Trevor frowned at his response, and his guard whispered something in his ear. 

____

“I didn’t come here to play games with you _Vagabond_ ,” he said, frustrated, “Why are you back in LS, after… everything? Why are you making such a scene all over the news of you being here and- and your trial, and all of this?” 

____

“I had some unfinished business to attend to, that’s all. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough” he said simply, a tiny smile escaping at the thought of what was to come. Trevor thought for a long minute before blanching. 

____

“Why are you doing this, Ryan? There are people who can help you, we can help you, this isn’t th-”

____

“I said I’m not your ‘Ryan’, Trevor,” Vagabond’s voice turned dark with the words, “and I’m getting all the help I need. Right. Here. I appreciate the concern, but it’s not needed or wanted.” Trevor’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

____

“This isn’t the only solution, you know…”

____

Vagabond sighed and put his elbows on the table. “So how’s the crew been?” he asked, ignoring Trevor’s last comment. 

____

“We’ve been…good. Michael and Lindsay had a kid recently, and she’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. Jeremy got married a few years back. Geoff and Jack too, finally. We all visit Gavin, sometimes, all together. We missed you, you know.” 

____

“Sounds like you all got cozy while I was gone.” 

____

“Yeah we uh…”he rubbed the back of his neck, “most of us disbanded and paid the cops off us after you and Gav…yeah. Matt and Larry took over the Fakes after Geoff stepped down and Kdin and Mica run Lindsay’s old crew. Not being on the wanted list all the time really opens up some room for relationships.” Vagabond laughed a bit at the irony of the last statement, and Trevor smiled ruefully. At least he got the man to smile. 

____

“So tell me about the baby. I want to hear all about her.” 

____

“I’d have to send Michael if you want all the details, but oh gosh, she’s just the most precious little thing. Her name’s Gwen and she looks just like her parents and she’s just, so _small_. The other day we were…”

____

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____

…

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____

There was a storm that night, and the pelting rain seemed to drown the city and send every soul indoors. There was a flash of lightning, followed a handful of seconds later by a clap of thunder that shook the windows in their panes. ‘How disgustingly poetic,’ thought Vagabond, ‘that there should be a thunderstorm when I come to visit him’. 

____

Vagabond turned over to lie on his side, and went back to sleep. 

____

_Gavin was like lightning: brilliant; dazzling; a white-hot streak of life and energy that burst into your life without warning and left as fast as he had come, leaving only scorched earth in his wake. Ryan was his thunder; the booms and shudders and murmurs of noise that followed. He was the ominous growl in the shadows that could never quite catch up his lightning even though it was always within his view. He was the warning that was always just a little too late._

____

_He was too late too late to protect the boy from his parents, even though they had been years before the two had even met. He was too late to stop the boy from drinking himself into oblivion on The Bad Nights. He was too late too late to stop the gang from breaking into their penthouse and kidnapping him while he rested after a job well done. He was too late to find them, and even later to stop them from slitting his love’s throat right in front of him and the rest of the crew. He was too late to realize that the matching rings he and Gavin had picked out were the perfect size and shape to act as a target._

____

Vagabond opened his eyes to the sound of one of his guards pounding on the bars of the cell. 

____

“Rise and shine, Haywood. They're taking your disgusting ass out to the real world today, so you better hurry up.” 

____

He slid out of the bed silently and stretched before walking over to the door with his arms held out in front of him. He knew his guards didn’t like him; nobody liked him. There was no point in acting out just yet, though, not when he was so close. The guards eyed him warily as they quickly cuffed him and led him to the bathrooms to get cleaned up and dressed. When his ten minutes were up, they took him to the warden’s office for a final pat down and to collect the items he requested. 

____

He carefully looked through the bouquet they had given him as he was walked out of the prison, shifting them the best he could as he went: white lilies, pink carnations, yellow tulips, and two orchids with a single blood red rose nestled in the middle. He smiled to himself for a quick second, letting it drop before the guards saw. It was perfect. The final set of doors opened before his group and he squinted through the bright sunlight, sighing internally at the sight of four full squad cars and a reinforced prison van waiting for him. He got into the van obediantly and prayed that the extra company wouldn’t ruin his trip. 

____

“I hear they’re finally putting you down next week,” the two cops in the front seat laughed, “it’s about fucking time. Got your last meal picked out yet?” Vagabond said nothing, and kept picking at the flowers in his hands. It still wasn’t the right time. “They’re not gonna serve you human, you know. They give you some good options, but you’ll need to choose something different than your normal menu.” They laughed again, though they sounded slightly uncomfortable this time. He looked at them steadily through the rearview mirror, and still said nothing. They spent the 35 minute drive in silence. 

____

When they finally arrived, Vagabond heard various directions being shouted outside. The rest of the cars must have gotten there ahead of him and were checking the place out. He couldn’t really blame them: being told to go to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the desert with the biggest murderer the world had ever known had to be suspicious. He rearranged the flowers one more time while he waited to be let out. It took 20 minutes. And when they finally did, the opened the door slowly, stepping back and keeping a hand on their pistols as if he were a caged animal being set free for the first time. 

____

He knew what they expected of him; it was plain as day on all of their faces. Vagabond just stood up and walked over to them calm as ever, jumping out onto the ground when prompted for another search. When they were finally done, he counted his steps again to get to the spot he visited the week before, and began dragging the toe of his shoe through the dirt to make a clean rectangle around it. 

____

“What is that? A grave for one of your victims?” shouted one of the officers as they moved up in a semi-circle to box him in against the building. 

____

He ignored them and completed the shape before burrowing the stems of the flowers into the softened earth above where the stone was. 

____

“I asked you a question, Haywood.” 

____

He turned to face the officers. They were scared, on edge, ready to flee or fight at the drop of a pin or the slightest notion that something were about to go off plan. They hadn’t lowered they guns for a single moment the entire time they’d been here. It was the perfect situation. One unexpected move, one misstep and it would all be over without a moment’s hesitation. It was finally time to act. He jerked his arms as if he was breaking free of the cuffs, and not a second later thirteen guns fired in his direction. 

____

Thirteen bullets struck true. 

____

When he collapsed to his knees in the middle of the grave, he smiled Ryan’s smile again, blood dripping from his lips and his chest and tears falling from his eyes onto the grave, staining the flowers a hideous color and making them droop. 

____

When the darkness crept into the edges of his vision, he whispered to the dirt below his cheek. “Sorry I’m late, Gavin, I’m coming now. I’ll be home for your birthday this time.” 

____

When he shut his eyes to answer the call of sleep, he could have sworn he heard the voice of the man he always dreamed of say something back. 

____

He did not dream this time. 

____

**Author's Note:**

> This concludes Requiem! Unless y'all request something of it I dunno maybe I'll do something else. Thanks for reading and kudosing and leaving comments, you guys are the best and I'm sorry (read: not sorry at all) to those of you I've apparently given feels to in this.
> 
> Catch me at spaceholts.tumblr.com for more bullshittery and an inbox you can send me prompts with


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